


Memories

by PixelV



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Accidents, Alone, Beekeeping, Blood, Car Accidents, Depression, Gen, Grief, Hallucinations, Happy Ending, Hurt John Watson, John's POV, Kidnapped John, Kidnapping, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Mild Gore, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pain, Poor John, Post Reichenbach, Psychological Torture, Psychotropic Drugs, Recovery, Sherlock's POV, Sherlock's emotions, Tears, Torture, Worry, character death but not really, dark alleyways, johnlock if you squint, mood change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2017-12-16 19:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelV/pseuds/PixelV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bullet whizzed past my ear and shot into the ground, bringing the leaves to life. I let out a terrifying cry and ran. He had caught up to me. God he was going to kill me. And once again, the solder inside took over. Leading me away from the trail, down a hill. I sloshed through a small creek and began to run up the other side. I dared a look back to see Sebastian standing on the other side of the hill. Staring at me. A smile pressed against his face. I barely caught the word he mouthed at me. 'John'</p><p>John is kidnapped and it's up to Sherlock to rescue him. But can he put the pieces back together? Or is John forever broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is MY story. I originally posted this to Wattpad. The link is on my profile, if you are interested. Thanks for reading!
> 
> I don't own any of the characters. BBC does.

John:

I sat at the computer, typing away at my blog. I had been working on it all morning and it was coming along nicely. After awhile, I decided to take a break, so i got up and went to the kitchen for some tea. I put the kettle on, and opened up the cupboard to search for a clean cup. It took me a second to identify the fingernails in the zip-lock baggie, and i sighed. Reaching past the bag, i grabbed my cup and filled it with the boiling water and tea bag.

I stood there waiting for my tea to be ready, and noticed how empty and quiet the flat was now. Mrs. Hudson had left to go shopping awhile ago, and Sherlock had left early for Scotland Yard, leaving me to myself. I sipped the hot liquid for a moment, and walked back to the desk. I continued working on the blog until i heard someone open the front door. Sherlock had been out since about eleven this morning, and i hadn't expected him back until later. He must have finished talking to Lestrade and come home early. I didn't bother to look up when the tall man entered the room.

"The kettle just boiled if you want some tea. What did Lestrade want?" i asked as i continued to type. He didn't say anything. Was something bothering him? Did it have to do with Lestrade's talk? I glanced up at him and nearly jumped out of my chair. A stranger stood in the doorway, staring at me.

"C-Can i help you?" i asked trying to compose myself and hide the surprise. Still, the man said nothing. He took a step towards me, and i jumped back and threw out my hand to put some distance between us.

"Sherlock Holmes isn't in right now, so please come back later... Alright?" Hopefully he would get my point, and leave. The man stood a good foot taller than me, and had wide shoulders. From what i could tell, he might have had some military background. He stood tall, not slouching, and had his hands at his sides. Just his presence in the room made me uneasy, and i could hear my heartbeat quicken as he continued to stand there. The man finally opened his mouth.

"I'm not here for Sherlock Holmes. Someone sent me here to collect you." He said in a calm voice.

I blinked. What did he mean?! Who would send someone for me? The only person who would want to 'collect' me would be Mycroft, but he would send Anthea to come get me. Panic filled my mind as i though of the only other possible person who would want me. Jim. But that can't be. Jim Moriarty shot himself in the head and forced Sherlock to jump. That was three and a half years ago. How could he possibly survive a gunshot to his brain? I took a deep breath and forced myself to think clearly.

"Who was it?" I asked, trying to confirm my thoughts. He said nothing, and began to slowly walk towards me. I continued to keep the eight foot gap between us as we circled around the living room, but he could easily get to me in under three steps. I kept my eyes glued on him and found myself inching towards the coffee table, where my phone sat. I could try to run down the hall to the street, but he might catch me. I had to make a choice! It was either that or get caught by the guy, who I presume Jim sent.

I hadn't taken my eyes off him yet, but when the back of my leg hit the table, i turned, grabbed my phone, and ran. I ran down the hall, and reached the stairs. I could hear the man's giant footsteps behind me, but i didn't stop. My arm flew out and hit the wall to steady myself as I flew down the stairs. But four steps down, a hand reached out and grabbed my shoulder and pulled back. Twisting around on the fifth step, my foot slipped and I started to fall backwards down the stairs. I reached out to grab the railing, but missed and grabbed one of the spindles instead, driving it out of its place. I fell down the stairs, hitting my head against the final step. I could feel blood trickle down my forehead as i lay on my chest. The man slowly made his way down the stairs to meet me. I tried to lift my head, but darkness filled my vision as i slowly passed out.

___________________________________________________________

Sherlock:

Lestrade had called me in early this morning to take a look at something. The Chef Supervisor had clearly said that i was not to help on murder cases. But somehow the Detective Inspector had convinced him otherwise. It had been six months since i came back from the dead, and even though the police department had already apologized for their idiotic mistakes. Many of the officers still glare at me when i walk into Lestrade's office.

After closing the door to his office, i turned to Detective Inspector with curiosity. To call me down without any information is a bold move. I had chose not to bring John along for this case, and i missed his company in the small office. He had been going through a lot in the past couple months. With my sudden arrival, it had stunted John out of his server depression, but it took its toll on his mind. I've noticed how tired and weak he been acting. On top of that, he is getting sick a lot. He is overextending his body's limit, and he finds himself feeling faint every other week. I feel that it will pass once he gets use to me being back. Lestrade sighed. Clearly the reason why he called me in was bothering him. He looked up, and i noticed how stressed he looked.

"The Yard got a letter. Its addressed to you." he said as he handed me a envelope," You were right...You know, about him. I recognize his handwriting, from the bombing case."

I drew my attention to the letter. My name was clearly written on the front in blue ink. It resemble the previous letter perfectly. I carefully opened the envelope, and took out the folded sheet of paper.

_Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes._

_You have made a Interesting mistake. Little did we know you could be so foolish sometimes. I am giving you a Huge clue, though, if you can't guess. I told you to die, i hoped you would actually, but you disappointed me Again, Sherlock. Very, Very cleaver. Your fall. Molly Hooper "Examining" your body. John burying you. You Jumped, but didn't land. You cheated me. You cheated death, itself. Now i Owe you even more. Can you find me in time? Oh, and Honey. This is a warning. Sherlock, Never get on my bad side, and don't be boring._

_You'll be hearing from me. Until then._

_JM_

I stared at the letter. I wasn't sure that he was alive. When he shot himself, i though he might have died, but while in hiding, I realized what i had missed. The fact that he could easily fake his death, just as i did. I reread the letter again. What clue? My eyes widened with realization. The punctuation. A perfectionist like Moriarty wouldn't make mistakes like that. He capitalized letters that have no value. Things lined up as i scanned over the letter again.

_You have made a **I** nteresting mistake. Little did we know you could be so foolish sometimes. I am giving you a **H** uge clue, though. If you can't guess. I told you to die. I hoped you would actually, but you disappointed me **A** gain, Sherlock. Very, **V** ery cleaver. Your fall. Molly Hooper " **E** xamining" your body. John burying you. You **J** umped, but didn't land. You cheated me. You cheated death, itself. Now i **O** we you even more. Can you find me in time? Oh, and **H** oney. This is a warning. Sherlock, **N** ever get on my bad side, and don't be boring._

Interesting. Huge. Again. Very. Examining. Jumped. Owe. Honey. Never.

I. H. A. V. E. J. O. H. N.

"Oh my god." i whispered as a shiver went down my spine. How could i be so stupid. I knew he would be back!

"What's the date today!" I yelled at Lestrade, who had been sitting at his desk talking to me. He was surprised at my question but answered "August second."

"six months" i whispered to myself. Lestrade looked at me. "Six months from what?" he asked.

"Not from what... from when. I came back six months ago to the day. He gave me six months. Why would he give me six months? It doesn't make any sense, I need to go home, NOW! John's in trouble. God i hope I'm not too late!".

I ran out of his office, and through the doors to the street. I didn't have time for a cab, so i ran. How could i let my guard down so easily. I knew i had to be careful. I knocked a few people aside when i turned the corner. Baker Street would only be three blocks away now.

I. H. A. V. E. J. O. H. N.

John. I should have been there. I shouldn't have left him again. That was my mistake. I don't know what Jim would do to him. Kill him? Torture him? Both? John was weak, thanks to me. The past six months were so hard for him. He had to accept that i wasn't dead, that i was real. After two months together, his limp started to go away. After four, he started to gain the weight he had lost over the three years. But even now, he still wakes up from nightmares screaming. He still hasn't fully recovered mentally yet. And with Moriarty, he could start a blaze with a ember that small.

I rounded the final corner, and Baker Street came into view. It still looked normal, but I'm sure Moriarty wouldn't lead me on with a threat like that. I made my way up the steps and carefully pushed open the door. Bits of debris were scattered around the entryway. I walked further in and assessed the damage.

The first thing i noticed was the smudge of blood on the bottom step. John's blood. His phone lay on the ground near it. Broken. I noticed one of the spindles to the railing was also broken. It wasn't kicked in, so someone had yanked it out. As a weapon? No. If so, they would have yanked it out completely. John might have tried to grab it while on the way down. The wall at the top the stairs was indented. Someone had thrown their weight against it. But the indent was long, not wide. So not their shoulder, but their forearm.

So he caught himself, before descending the stairs. There are small scuff marks on the hallway, from John's shoe, but darker marks from another shoe. So only one attacker. But why did he fall? He was running, so he might have just slipped, but the spindle was located near the top of the staircase. So he fell almost immediately after reaching the stairs. Was he pushed? No. He wouldn't have time to grab the peg. Something had slowed him down... The attacker grabbed him!

I quickly ran into the living room, looking for more evidence. I found John's tea cup. John must have made it before the attacker got here. It wasn't warm, and i closed my eyes in frustration. Both John and the attacker would be gone by now. There was no hope in me catching up to them. I glanced over at the desk and noticed his laptop was still open with his blog up. He had been stopped mid-sentence. I closed the laptop and sat down in the chair. I got out the letter again, rereading it over and over. Nothing was coming to me. Nothing that could help John. Jim's last sentence irritated me even more.

_You'll be hearing from me. Until then._

  
He's going to contact me and i don't know when. There is nothing i can do until then, and he knows it. He knows i can't do anything, that's his game. I sat down on the sofa and waited. I don't know how long i sat there, but eventually Mrs. Hudson came back and i informed her of the situation. I don't think Moriarty would want to hurt Mrs. Hudson since he already has John, so i sent her to her flat, and told her not to worry. I sat back down on the sofa and began to think.


	2. Chapter 2

John:

My forehead stung with pain as i opened my eyes. The memories of what happened at 221b slowly came to me as i adjusted to the dim light. I wasn't aware of how much time had passed, but judging from the small window to my left, it was about two in the afternoon. Sherlock would be home by now, and my face fell as i thought of his reaction. I was such a pain in his side. Always endangering him, always making him protect me. Some solder i was. I couldn't even defend myself. 

I glanced around the room and took in the tight space. The room was square and just large enough to fit a small bed against the back wall. Other than the bed and a toilet in the corner, the room was empty. I sat up from the tile floor, and jumped to the bed. Standing on the bed, i could just barely see out the small window to the outside. I was somewhere in a forest. Not in London. 

My thoughts were interrupted when the metal door unlock and opened. There stood the same man who had kidnapped me. He stood in the doorway, completely blocking any way of escape. He towered over me, with his hands behind his back, reminding me of his military service. He opened his mouth and calmly said "Come on, John. Follow me. Someone wants to see you."

He stepped out of the doorway, and walked down the hall. I was bewildered on how he could trust me to follow, but soon realized there would be no chance to run. He caught me in the flat quite easily. Running me down in these halls would be child's play to a athletic man like him. I followed behind him and turned left and right at several corners. It appeared like no one was here besides us, and the empty dark halls confused me as we made are way around. I lost track of where we were when i got a glimpse of the outdoors. We were on the second level of a large building, and the windows in the hall were mostly boarded up. But the few openings that had formed over the years let me view the world outside. My mouth dropped at the sight. Miles and miles of trees. No way of escape. I was trapped. Even if i could get outside, there was no chance that i could make my way through the trees and find someone. I was completely and utterly alone.

I quickly closed my mouth as we approached a door. The tall man stopped, knocked, and entered. I followed him into the room, and the door was closed behind me. I was taken back at the room. It was large and had been remodeled. Compared to the rest of the building, the room look like Buckingham palace. It was carpeted, and had several nice sofas aligned around a glass coffee table. It reminded me of the rooms where Mycroft worked. My attention fell upon the man sitting at one of the elegant couches, and i froze. Unable to take my eyes of the man who sat there. Moriarty. The anger built up inside my bones, as the monster sat drinking his tea. He barely noticed that we had entered, and casually look up at me. A slight shiver went through me as i stood only ten feet away from the man who sent my life into hell. His mouth curled into a smiled.

My disgust towards him skyrocketed. I lunged at him, having full intent to squeeze the life out of his throat. But i had just barely moved when a strong elbow landed on my neck. I fell imminently to the ground, as stars flooded my vision. The tall man, who stood behind me, had moved at the first signs of my attack. He was trained well. I looked up at him, and he gently stood me up, holding on to my arms.

"tisk tisk." Jim sighed "Can't you behave for once. You are a guest, after all." He set his tea down and turned his attention to the tall man. 

"Thank you Sebastian." And the tall man nodded and politely smiled back. Jim gestured at the opposite couch, and when i didn't move, Sebastian pushed me towards the sofa. He hovered behind me as i took my seat. Jim smirked at my compliance, as i glared at him. 

He picked up his tea again and stared at me. "John. It's nice to see you again. When was the last time we were face to face? Kitty's apartment? How have you been holding up through the years?" he asked as a smile crept on his face. 

I didn't answer.

"Lets see...", he took out a sheet of paper from his inside pocket, "You visited the cemetery quite a lot... Talked to your therapist. And whats this? Suicidal thoughts?! Oh john..." He gave me a pitying look. "Come now, you have to know by now that i'm the one who's going to kill you." he said with a huff of laughter. I didn't say anything. I sat frozen on the white couch, eyes glued on Jim. 

Jim was getting bored. I sat expressionless and emotionless, and his taunts weren't going to change that. He eyed me for a minute, and then got up, straightened his suit, and addressed Sebastian. "I'll talk to him later. Bring him back to his room, will you?"

Sebastian nodded, and nudged me towards the door. I got up and began to walk away, but Sebastian put a hand on my shoulder and stopped me. I turned around.

"John," Jim said as he picked up his tea," I do hope you are more talkative next time. Or there will be problems. Just so you know, I don't like talking to a wall." he smirked and waved goodbye. Sebastian walked me away and back down the long halls of darkness. I tried to make a mental map of the building, but there were so many halls and doors, many of which looked rundown and broken. The building gave off an eerie vibe, one that reminded me of buildings in Afghanistan. Buildings that had been abandoned and forgotten. We reached my room, and Sebastian let me in. I eyed him cautiously as i entered. 

"I'm not going to hurt you again." he stated. I looked up with surprise. He had finally spoke.

"But i'm also not going to let you hurt Jim. So please behave yourself."

I was startled at is politeness. The way he treated me was beyond my idea of a kidnapper. It was almost kindness.

He said when he would be back to give me food and left. Closing and locking the door on the way out. I went over the previous hour in my mind and though of any information i might have come across. The building. Clearly old and abandoned. But in the middle of nowhere... why? Maybe it was abandoned a long time ago. There are many rooms here, and almost all of them are like mine. Cells. Is it a hospital? No, hospital's halls would be more organized in straight rows. What then? I gave up trying to figure it out. I jumped up onto the bed again to look out the window. Where was i? I had been knocked out for two hours, so at least ninety minutes away from London, right? I sat down on the bed and closed my eyes. Sherlock will find me. I just have to wait.

___________________________________________________________

Sherlock:

It had been a week since John had been taken. Lestrade had come and talked to me about any news that had come up, but the police had almost no leads. I had no leads.

I sat on my chair plucking at my violin. My brain felt dead. I could not think of any new clue i hadn't already processed. I had no idea who the stranger was, or where he had taken John. I heard footsteps on the landing, and look up to see Mycroft entering the room. I quickly stood up. He seemed surprised at my anxiousness, and paused only for a moment. 

"Hello brother." He said with pity in his voice. His eyes looked tired. He hasn't slept well, i haven't either.

"Do you have what i asked for?" I asked quickly.

He stared at me and quietly answered, "...Yes." 

He sat down in the opposite chair and opened up the file he had brought, handing it to me. I took the file and examined the photo and information inside.

"His name is Sebastian Moran. Forty three years old. He has extreme training in weaponry and hand-to-hand combat. I didn't think we would see him again." He sighed as i scanned over the file. I looked up when he spoke the last sentence. 

"What do you mean?"

Mycroft paused and took in a breath. "We were tracking him four years ago. He was an assassin for hire and had killed several important people. But shortly after you cracked the code for Irene, he dropped from our radar. We tried to dig around and gave up. We assumed he had been killed by another hit man. I suppose we were wrong..." He trailed off. He pulled out his phone and pushed several keys. "This is the video of the flat." he said as he turned the phone around.

I swallowed my emotions as i watched the man enter our flat. He quickly broke in, and seven minutes later, the door opened. Out stepped Moran, carrying an unconscious John over his shoulder. He walked to the street, and opened up a black car, resting John in the back seat. I looked up to Mycroft, "Where did the car go?"

"It drove out of London. We lost sight of it in about a half hour. It turned onto the back roads, where we don't have cameras. I'm...sorry." He answered.

My eyes fell to the floor. He was gone. Nowhere to look now.

I managed to whisper a small "Thank you..." And Mycroft understood. He got up, nodded goodbye, and left. Leaving me in the quiet flat. It took effort to rip my gaze away from the floor. I missed the quiet tapping of John at his computer. I missed his conversations. I missed him worrying about me. 

But even with the new information, the trail was going cold. I sat for the next hour tracing the possible routes that Moran could have taken John. But the possibilities grew too many after twenty miles. Mrs. Hudson came in with some food, and i thanked her. I hadn't eaten in four days, and i couldn't stay sharp for much longer. She talked to me for ten minutes, and i could see how sad she was at the absents of John. She left looking quite depressed. 

I sat on the couch. Hands covering my face, as one small tear fell down my nose. This was my fault. The three years i was away, i had been eliminating Moriarty's henchmen. Getting rid of the assassins, thugs, and clients. But i missed the most important man. How could i think he was dead! 

I felt the guilt wash over me, and i tried to regain my composure, but failed as another tear fell. I hadn't noticed Mycroft enter the room for the second time that evening. And when he put a hand on my shoulder, i jumped. I stared blankly at my older brother who sat down next to me.

"We have cameras in your flat, you know. And when i saw you..." He trailed off once again. He must be feeling the guilt too.

"It's not your fault, Sherlock. I should have searched harder. We didn't know." he assured me. But his attempts to help me did little. And i wiped my face off with my sleeve. 

"Yes, i know Mycroft. Thank you." I spoke, slightly embarrassed at my composure.

"Don't worry. We will find him. Trust me." Mycroft said in a calm voice as he put his arm around me and rocked me. I felt another tear fall. This was all my fault.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is kinda long. It took me awhile. Hope you like it!!  
> -Nicki

John:

It had been sixteen days. Sixteen days of confusion and fear. Of not knowing what was going to happen. It had been HELL. Hot days, cold nights. Little food and water. Absolutely nothing to do but sit here waiting. Why  _was_  i here? Was i just a chess piece to lure Sherlock to his enemy? ... No. Sherlock would have found me in sixteen day. Surly the genus could find my trail after two bloody weeks, right? I have been plagued with these doubts since the third day of captivity. I was tearing myself apart with panic attacks. Little doubts of Sherlock giving up, or not knowing, or not even noticing my absence. Thoughts of dying in a place like this. It pained me to know i was helpless.

The door unlocked and was open only wide enough for Sebastian's hand to set the bottle of water and bread down. We made eye contact for a second and the door was closed. I stood up and retrieved the supplies. I set the water aside and separated the bread into several pieces as i sat against the wall. Just enough to last two days. Sebastian came every other day, and the supplies he provided, surly from Moriarty's orders, were only enough to last one day. I was constantly thirsty and my stomach was often pained with hunger. I received little sleep as well, thanks to my hunger. And the bags were heavy under my eyes.

As i ate the small amount of bread, the thoughts returned. I could hear my heartbeat rise as i began to have another panic attack. I leaned against the cold wall and tucked my knees under my chin. Rocking on the floor, I tried to convince myself that the walls weren't coming any closer and Sherlock would come. The attack lasted another fifteen minutes, and i felt no better afterward. The attacks were coming a frequent occurrence. I took a deep breath and diagnosed myself with claustrophobia and severe anxiety for the fifth time. Being in such a small place for so long was wearing on me. I hadn't left the cramped room since i talked to Jim. Well, listened to Jim.

Remembering the chat was the only thing i could think of for the first four days. I swore to myself that i wouldn't change anything if i met him again. There wasn't any way I was going to submit to a manic like him. But... what would happen if i didn't talk to him? He said something bad was going to happen. But what? Take away more food? He has me down to just about nothing anyway. Torture me? I could handle it, probably. He had nothing to take from me. Nothing.

 

The days dragged on as I sat in my cage. The hope of Sherlock seemed like a childish attempt to keep me sane. It was now day twenty five, and i woke up cold and stiff. I struggled to stand and stretched out my sore muscles. It wasn't too long after i had woke up when the door opened and Sebastian stared down at me. I slowly stood up with caution as Sebastian asked," Can you walk on your own, or do you need help? He would like to see you again."

I shook my head and followed him out the door. We walked down the long hallways again, and i struggled to understand the building. It really seemed like a hospital, but something was different. I couldn't explain it. I shifted my thoughts around as we neared the door. Sebastian knocked and entered and i followed him into the room.

He was sitting there. On the same white couch, drinking the same old tea. No, it was coffee this time. He looked up.

"Have a seat John."

I kept my eyes on the ground as i moved towards the opposite white couch. Sebastian stood behind me just in case.

"So, How are you? Are you having a nice time in your room? I know it doesn't have the best of views, but I’m sure you won't mind." Jim said as he took another sip.

I kept quiet. And the silence made Jim frown. He paused and gave me another chance to speak.

"John." He said while his cold eyes glared into mine,"I'm waiting for a response"

Still, i said nothing. My eyes stared off into the wall behind him, refusing to make eye contact again. But i could still feel his eyes on me. I shifted uncomfortably.

"Fine. Sebastian, do as i said once you returned Johnny to his room. Okay?" He told him with a smile. He seemed happy that i hadn't spoke, which frightened me.

I was quickly hauled upwards and almost dragged out of the room. I could hear Jim calling after me 'you could have listened' with smugness in his voice. My eyes widened with fear. I new something bad would happen if i chose to disobey, and i though i could handle it. My panic that had been bundled up was starting to surface. Sebastian opened the door to my room and i looked up to him.

"please. I didn't mean it. I swear. Just take me back and I’ll talk to him. Just... pleas-"

I was cut off when he delivered a hard blow to my stomach, and i crumpled over his strong arm. With his free arm he then continued to hit me on my sides and chest. And each blow seemed more painful than the last. I cried out in pain as i tried to inhale, but i had lost my breath. Panic went over me as Sebastian continued to wail at me with his fists. I couldn't breath. He then picked me up by my shirt and slammed me up against the wall, sending pain up my spine. I cried out. But his hand was at my throat, cutting of my little supply of air. He tightened his grip as i fumbled at his hands. My lungs burned for air and i felt heavy. Sebastian stared at me with his cold eyes and expressionless face, and let go.

He let go. He could have killed me, but he let go. He brought me to death's door and just let me go. I dropped to the floor and started gasping for air. Everything on the inside burned. I looked up at him as he stood over me. And he spoke quietly.

"I will be gone for five days, and be prepared on the fifth day. You will see Jim again."

I barely processed what he said before he delivered a final blow to my eye. Hitting so hard he knocked me out.

When i woke up again, it was night. I looked around and slowly remembered what Sebastian had said. I quietly moaned as i stood up. I clutched my side as i made my way to the bed. Lifting up my thin, tan t-shirt, i stared at my ribs, which had taken most of the blows. They was slightly swollen and were a dark shade of red. It hurt to touch and to even breath. I didn't think that any were broken, but it was dark. I will have to check in the morning. I gently slid myself down onto the bed, hoping that i would be able to sleep. But sleep did not come. Only night terrors.

By the next day, my chest had turned from red to a deep purple. It was painful; God it was painful. I don't think that any bones were broken yet, but until I’m out, i will have to be careful. My eye hurt. It hadn't closed up or anything, but i could tell that it had bruised quite badly.

The days were long and hot for August, or September. I couldn't remember how many days were in August. In fact, i found it hard to remember a lot. I could barely remember what Scotland Yard looked like, or Mrs. Hudson's flat, or anything about Molly. I was starting to forget. Which didn't seem to add up, noting that i had only been kidnapped a month ago. But somehow through the stress and panic attacks, i had forgotten things close to me. It pained me that my memories could be so easily lost. Luckily, memories of Sherlock were still somewhat there. Mostly untouched.

Something jolted me out of memory lane. I looked down to my hand that was sitting on my lap. I slowly lifted it up and felt an emotion i hadn't felt since years before. It's a mixture of sadness, fear, and disappointment. The tremor in my left hand had resurfaced. Sending my hand into painful shaking. It was still almost unnoticeable.

By the third day, the bruises had taken a darker shade of blueish purple and the swelling hadn't died down yet. I pushed my longish hair out of my eyes and began to wish for food and for water. Sebastian would be gone for five days. And i was mostly fine for the first day, but the days following... were terrible. I constantly wanted food or a drink. But had nothing. I received almost no sleep, and when i did get a nap, i was jolted awake by either pain or nightmare. I honestly felt like i was dying.

The forth day was hellish. My ribs hurt so much, that i began to doubt myself on weather or not my ribs were cracked. I was badly dehydrated. So much that my head would spin if i stood up. I would often just lay down and wait. I would have to deal with the pain from my ribs that way, but i wouldn't have any pain in my head. The days slowly went by until the final day. Day five.

The door unlocked and Sebastian looked down at me.

"...do you...any water?" i managed to whisper.

"I will get you something to drink once you talk to Jim."

I nodded slowly and tried to stand. I wobbled and fell, hitting my bad eye against the concrete floor. I could hear Sebastian sigh and felt strong hands pick me up to a standing position. He helped me walk down the hallways to Jim's door and let me go. I swayed a bit but entered into the room after him and sat at my couch. Jim smiled to me.

" You don't look so hot, do you?"

I glared at him, but kept quiet. I still refused to talk. I know it was suborn of me, and that i couldn't last another five days with water, but i didn't care. If i was alive after all this time, I knew that Jim wouldn't want to kill me. He wanted me alive for some reason.

Jim returned my glare, and motioned to Sebastian.

I was quickly grabbed and picked up, sending pain to my head, and then shoved to the floor. Before i could access the situation, Sebastian was beating be repetitively. Sending pain into my chest, bruising the already bruised areas. He latched onto my throat with his hand and began to wail on my damaged eye and face. After only five minutes the damage was done. I lay on the cold floor waiting to die. I would rather die than continue to stay there. I wanted to leave.

I felt Sebastian's hands around my arms as i was dragged upwards. I felt him behind me as he lifted up my thin tee-shirt. Showing off my damaged ribs. I managed to look up and find Jim standing and reaching for his pocket, lifting out a phone.

"smile for the camera, John" he said as he took the photo.

He motioned over to the couch with his hand, and i was lifted and taken to a sitting position. Blood was dripping from my nose onto the couch, and i made no effort to change it. I simply sat there and waited. I had become good at waiting. Sebastian set down a cup of tea in front of me. I kindly took it and accepted the warmth. I drank almost half of it in the first sip.

"John," Jim said "I am kinda surprised that you won't talk to me."

"..whys that.." i managed to whisper as i took another drink. I had given up my fight. I was done. I couldn't continue like this. My stubbornness was useless, and my body acted on its own.

Jim smiled at my answer. "Well, with what Sebastian did to you and your friends."

It seemed like my heart stopped. I looked up with my good eye in horror.

".. What did you do."

Jim cocked his head a little as if he was surprised at my stupidity.

"Didn't you know that Sebastian was a professional assassin? Then again, you were pretty slow."

The words were painful. They slowly affected me as i sat on the couch. My stomach turned and it was painful to breath. I looked up to Sebastian, who was standing behind me.

"...you didn't...."

He stared down at me with cold eyes. Jim continued.

"yeah, killed them. Your landlady, the D.I., Mycroft, little Molly, even Sherlock Holmes himself. Killed all of them. He's quite good, too. In fact he almost killed you three years ago if Sherlock hadn't jumped."

Jim messed with his phone and an alert sounded as he sent the text. Tears started to fall.

"I'm sending your picture to Scotland Yard, with directions. Those morons will be here in five hours. So if you meet them, it will be about eleven. I hope the drug wont take effect too quickly."

I stared at him and then back at the empty cup.

"..oh shit." I cursed as i threw the cup to the ground. "What did you drug me with!?"

"Your the doctor. It was nice seeing you." He said as he waived good bye.

I was yanked up and escorted out of the room. We didn't go back to my room though. We headed out and down a flight of stairs and through several doors. Until i was finally outside. The air was cooling down as the evening settled in. The sun was just going down as i was turned around to face Sebastian.

" walk straight that way." he said as he pointed," you will find the road in about four hours. We will be long gone by the time anyone reaches you. It would be pointless for you to search for us."

"... did you really kill my friends.."

"Yes, now start walking. You can find the bodies about an hour into the woods. I left them there for you." he said as he smiled.

I turned and quickly started into the woods. My hand shook terribly and my legs hurt. Everything hurt. Breathing, walking, blinking, crying. I was free from Moriarty. But I had killed my friends with my choices, my silence. It was all because of me that i returned to the world of sorrow i had left behind three years ago. It was my fault.

___________________________________________________________

Sherlock:

After the ninth day, i began to search the countryside for any hints. Anything would help, but nothing came up. I abandoned searching on day twenty three, and began wondering weather or not he had been moved out of England. How far could he have got?

I spent the next day alone in the flat, and refused any company of Mrs. Hudson or Lestrade. I sat in my chair and stared at the empty seat of John's. The possibility of John being alive were roughly at forty percent. Far too low. Moriarty could have kill him by now. And right now... I would have give anything for this to just not happen. For me to just wake up one morning to find John in the kitchen making us tea. To have Moriarty just stay dead. God i felt helpless.

I stood up, feeling unable to sit still any longer, and just wandered around the flat. Not pacing. Just wandering. Slowly around the chairs, to the windows, to the kitchen, to the violin stand. Just... thinking.

Thinking about John. About what he was feeling right now. If he was even alive. I fell into the sofa and closed my eyes. I tried to focus on meditating. Of closing my eyes and just breathing. In and out. In rhythmic patterns. I didn't often try meditation, only when i had a bad night, or when i had too much to think about. But after about ten minutes of breathing, i fell into a uneasy sleep.

The next morning came brightly, waking me painfully. I got up, stretched, and peered out the window at the now busy street. I felt betrayed by the city. Betrayed that the world would keep on moving after an accident, or a fight, or a death. Betrayed that the world didn't care about John, even though the world has never met John. But my world has. That's where i live, with John, in my own world. Where we solve crimes and work and have fun. My world stopped turning when John left. As if waiting for John to come back and continue the life we have come to know. I suppose this is how John felt when i died. Empty and lonely. Betrayed. I recognized the emotion vaguely. Grief. Guilt. Sadness... I began to backpedal on my thoughts. When i died...

I stood up and went to my bedroom to change. I needed information for my brain to think. The more i know, the more i think. I put on my coat and hailed a cab to Scotland Yard. The cab ride seemed like it would never end, like it would go on forever. But the cab did stop, and I got out and payed the driver. I quietly entered Scotland Yard and kept my eyes from the other office workers. I also took the stairs, in fear of an awkward elevator ride.

I walked into Lestrade's office and sat down in the lumpy chair. He wasn't in at the moment and i was content in waiting. The information i wanted could have been obtained from Mycroft, but that was out of the question. I was going on a idea that might or might not help at all. It was a good hour or so before Lestrade came back into his office.

"Sherlock. Sally said that she saw you in here waiting for awhile. Said she almost came into here to tell you where i was. I was downtown looking into possible lead for a case."

"Obviously." i murmured. His words hurt a bit. Reminding me of how the world still worked without John.

"Well, yeah. What do you want? Did you find something?" He asked hopefully.

"no. I need some help though. I have some questions about my 'death'."

He looked like he didn't really ever want to talk about what had happened three years ago. He never wanted to talk about that day. He blamed himself for my actions, and never really forgot.

"What do you want to know?" he looked sad as he remembered the events.

"What happened to Moriarty's body? Where was it taken and buried?"

He hesitated. "I though you knew what happened. He was taken to a morgue on the other side of the city. Molly was a bit tied up with you, you know. After the autopsy he was cremated. Didn't Mycroft tell you?"

"No. He didn't. Who did the autopsy?"

"Umm." He opened up a filing cabinet and pull out a folder. "Spencer Mayton. He died two years ago from a heart attack. Is this really the first time your hearing about this?"

"Yes. Can i see the file?"

He handed it to me and i skimmed over the details of Moriarty body. The report seemed legit, but obviously Moriarty was still alive. I read the chicken-scratch handwriting of Spencer Mayton. But nothing seemed drastically important until the end. I stared at his signature.

"How old was Mayton?"

"Spencer? He was about forty-three, i think. Pretty young for a heart attack, but it is heard of." Lestrade answered.

I quickly cross-referenced his age with the man from Mycroft's video footage. It was an almost perfect match. And with his signature, it confirmed it.

"What are you thinking?"

"Spencer Mayton probably never existed. Moriarty's second in command is a man named Sebastian Moran. Look at his signature." I turned the autopsy report towards him," he signed it 'SM'. Plus the video footage from Mycroft of Johns kidnapping, I’d say it's him. Moriarty needed someone on the inside who could cover for him. 'Spencer' probably also gave the order to cremate him. Right?"

"..Shit. Now what?"

I opened my mouth to answer but was cut off when my cell buzzed. I took it out hoping for good news, but my heart dropped- no stopped beating. I found it hard to breath as i gazed down at the screen. Lestrade noted my reaction and quickly came around his desk and said something. He reached for my phone and stared. "Jesus..."

It was a photo text message. Unknown number. Not a large file. The photo was of John. Taken recently. Standing in front of a man who seemed to be holding him up somewhat. He was lifting John's shirt showing of bruised ribs and stomach. His face wasn't much better. Bleeding from his mouth and nose. His right eye was swollen and threatened to close. He looked empty. As if he was defeated. Most of him was a purple-ish red. It made my stomach twist at the sight of my friend. The man behind him was the man from the video, Sebastian Moran. Or Spencer Mayton, whoever he was. I looked the text message attached to the photo.

_Had a bunch of fun with John. I suppose you can have him back now. I was kinda waiting for you to come and find us, but you took too long. Anyway, you can come pick him up now. He'll be in the woods. He was actually going a bit insane without you. Cute. Hope you learned your lesson._

_-JM_

Chills went down my spine at the sight of those initials. Where was he. Jim said he would be in the woods, so a forest. But that only rules out the cities. I tilted my head at the next sentence. Insane? John was a solder. He knew how to keep his head in check. He wouldn't go insane... My brain began to work at top speeds. It was a riddle. Just like his last message. Insane. An insane asylum? In the woods? Abandoned? Possibly. I routed the nearest possible match. An hour and a half away. Damn.

"Quickly Lestrade. We need to leave. Get your car."

He followed without question.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to upload. I have been quite busy.  
> Note: We do find some dead bodies in this chapter, so watch out.  
> Thanks

John:

I stumbled forward into the woods, nearly running. Tears streaming down my face blurring my vision of the ground. I felt relieved to finally be away from Moriarty, but it was smothered by my grief. Everything that Jim said, that Sebastian said, it made sense. I don't want to believe it. But it made sense. Normally, in a situation like this, Sherlock would come and find me within a day. Maybe two. But Sherlock hadn't come. He had left me abandoned in the hands of the most dangerous man i know. He wouldn't do it purposely. I know, but God, it made sense.

I looked back. I could still see Sebastian standing there, staring back at me. He lifted his arm and i caught a glimpse at what his hand held. A gun. Pointing straight at me. I let out a cry and started to run faster. Tripping on dead branches and leaves that were scattered around the ground.  
I heard the gun fire. I didn't stop. Tree bark exploded next to me. I heard it again, and it flew by my head. Memories shot through me before i could stop them. Memories of Afghanistan. Of being shot and the pain i felt. I let my instincts take over. I no longer cared what was behind me, or what awaited me when i was found. All i cared about was staying alive.

I kept running for what felt like a good thirty minutes, before i forced myself to stop and breath. I was terrified. I didn't know what waited for me after this. An empty life? I don't think i could survive something like that again. If Sherlock hadn't come back...  
No. I wasn't going to think about that. I had to press on. I stood and took a step forward. And nearly fell to my knees. I was shaking pretty bad, and my left leg and shoulder were burning with pain. I was going into shock. I was breathing hard and i felt hot. I had to push on, or i would never be found. I though about it, about weather or not i wanted to be found. It might be better if i just stopped here. If i just-

A bullet whizzed past my ear and shot into the ground. Bringing the leaves to life. I let out a terrifying cry and ran. He had caught up to me. God he was going to kill me. And once again, the solder inside took over. Leading me away from the trail, down a hill. I sloshed through a small creek and began to run up the other side. I dared a look back to see Sebastian standing on the other side of the hill. Staring at me. A smile pressed against his face. I barely caught the word he mouthed at me. 'John'

My eyes widened with fear and I heard another shot. I quickly climbed the hill and took off running. He was going to kill me like an animal. I started to have flashbacks of Afghanistan. Running through the sand. Shooting. Enemy fire. My shoulder burned with the memories and the pain and the heat of the sun. And-

My foot caught on a branch of a fallen tree, and I fell. My chest tightened as the precious moments escaped. It only took a few seconds to get back up again, but it felt like hours. I didn't look back to see where he was. I didn't dare. A force took over my body and willed my legs to run. I'm not sure what you would call it. Fear? Terror? It was the emotion you feel when you honest-to-god think you're going to die. The emotion moved my feet as i gasped for air. 

I ran for what seemed like an hour through the trees and leaves. I took a moment to catch my breath and reduced my speed down to a walk. I kept looking behind me but Sebastian was never there. The sun had set awhile ago, leaving me with the dim light of the moon. It was barely enough to keep me from tripping over logs and branches. The night was humid and left my skin sticky. I kept on moving for a good twenty minutes until the mostly flat forest starting to changed into steep hills.   
I was descending down a hill when i slipped on something wet. My feet came up from under me and my back hit the ground fairly hard. I looked around to find the source of the fall only to find nothing. I got up to leave and froze when i heard the drip. The smell of copper flooded my nose. I slowly looked up and found myself screaming. There hung my five friends. Dead. Each corps staring at me from the branches. As if asking why i didn't do anything.

Molly was the first i saw. Poor innocent Molly. Strangled. I could see the bruises on her neck from where Sebastian left them. Her lips still blue, her eyes still open. Greg hung next to her. His neck snapped, leaving his neck at an unnatural angle. Leaning on the tree he was hung twenty feet from the ground. He probably never saw Sebastian coming. He probably died instantly. My eyes moved to Mrs. Hudson. Throat slashed, wrists bound together in front of her, rope around her neck like all the others. Her sweet face twisted in pain in her last moments. 

At this point i began to shake uncontrollably.

Next was Mycroft. Damn Mycroft. His blood covered his stomach and chest from the bullet lodged just below his rib cage. He bled out. The worst way to die. It was his blood i slipped in. The final corpse, that completed Jim's threat, was the body of Sherlock. My very best friend. Dead. Hanging from a tree. His eyes somehow glared down at me as he swayed with the wind. Blood covered his head, much like it did when he jumped. Another wound lay on his chest. A bullet to his heart. Jim's little message to me.  
I tried to turn. I tried to run away, but my legs didn't work and i fell. I slammed against a tree and screamed. I just screamed and stared at the faces i had killed. Knowing that they will haunt my dreams. Knowing that i would never forget. It wasn't fake. They weren't fake corpses like Sherlock's fall. They weren't body doubles or manikins. Every detail down to the freckles was real. God. They were dead.

_____________________________________________________________________  
Sherlock:

I checked the clock in Greg's car for the sixteenth time and began to doubt it's accuracy. It had only been forty-five minutes, but it felt had felt like hours. The car was silent except for the small sounds of the radio, which was playing a soft song i didn't recognize. Greg eventually broke the silence.

"What can you tell from the picture?" He asked in a quiet, grim, voice.

I reopened the photo reluctantly.

"Taken just before he sent it. John looks... weak. His face is pretty battered. Possible broken nose and swollen eye. But the bruising on his chest is what i'm concerned about. He might have a broken rib, or several fractured ones. We'll see once we get a look at him."  
Lestrade accepted my opinion with a hum, and continued on the road. He stayed silent for the next half hour, until he looked at me. He must have been thinking about something.

"Why did he let him go? He's had him for a month, why let him go?"

"He still wants to play the game. He doesn't want John dead, he wants me dead. To beat me at his game. I lucked out last time, but this is just the beginning of round two. The only reason John got hurt was because of me."

Lestrade took his eyes off the road to study me, trying to read my emotions. I tried my best to keep my face blank. But i was fighting the urge to break down. John didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve someone like me who just lead him into trouble. I shifted my gaze to the window, shifting so that Greg couldn't see my face. I heard a small sigh as he gave up and the car went back to silence.

We reached the stretch of road where the woods deepened. Greg shut off the car and got out. I took off into the woods and jogged for about ten minutes before we slowed. Unsure of where John might be in the forest, i called out to him.   
Silence.

I tried again, but a hand on my shoulder stopped me. 

"This might be a trap. I don't think we should make ourselves known."  
I shrugged him off my shoulder and bit back. "I know that! But Jim gave us permission to find him, and if he wanted to kill me, it would have been a long time ago! John could be anywhere out here, and calling out to him is the best option."

"Alright, alright. Calm down, i see your point. Just... yeah." he sighed and began to call his name.

We began to jog through the trees calling his name, hoping that we did indeed have the right place and that John was not unconscious. It gave me an uneasy feeling in my gut. Whenever you have to rely on hope, things are bad. And after awhile of calling, my hope began to fade.

After twenty or so minutes of calling, we heard our first response. It was a scream. We bolted towards the man with guns drawn immediately. Reaching the top of the hill, we had a good view of the area below. John was laying on his side nearly two hundred feet out. 

"JOHN!!" I yelled as i bolted, ignoring the crack in my voice. Greg was quickly behind me as i reached him. 

He was shaking as if he was cold, but was burning with fever. And even in the dark i could see the battered face of my friend. His eye had closed and was a dark purple, and there was dried blood staining his nose from where someone had landed a good hit. He didn't notice when Greg and I came closer. And when i reached out, he flinched so hard i brought my hand back in shock. 

"John? John, its me. Sherlock."

A sob wracked his body as he tried to say my name. His voice failed him from the screaming and it barely came out over a whisper. He began to curl in on himself and i reached out again.

"John. You're going to be fine. We just- we just need to get you out of here. Okay?" 

I reached out again and gently took his hand, trying to soothe him. He nearly wrenched his hand free until i stated my name again. "It's just me, Sherlock. Remember?" He seemed to regain a few thoughts, and stopped fighting my hold. He leaned forward grabbing my coat collar and sobbed. I had never seen John cry before. He was always so strong, so in control. And seeing him like that broke my heart. 

It took both of us to get him to the car. We laid him down in the back and i climbed in next to him as Greg started the car. He held on to my coat the whole time as he shook and whimpered. It pained me that all i could do was gently say his name and hold his hand. The first hour in the car he didn't even acknowledge he had been found. He fixed his eyesight in one place and cried. And Greg's expression in the mirror slow began to grow worse.

We had been driving for almost eighty minutes when John began to sob a bit harder. We were so close to London. So close to help. John whimpered again, and I reached up and flicked on the overhead lights. And everything happened at once. He flew forward and landed a blow to my jaw.

I was startled, to say the least, and reeled backwards. I put a hand to my face as John hit me again. Greg had pulled off the road and gotten out, and was clearly debating what to do. He opened the door and lifted John off me and onto the ground. John didn't like that.

He swiftly turned and shoved Greg into the ally wall. He put his hands up and around Greg's throat, cutting off his flow of air. 

"JOHN??"

He turned to look at me, fear in his eyes. I took a step forward and he ran.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we continue on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so late. By the way, this chapter is kinda dark and scary. and sad.

John: 

Things began to blur together after finding... everything. I don't know how long it took, but eventually the police found me. They tried to sooth me but their attempts failed to settle my mind. They let me lie down in the backseat of the cab, and slowly, very slowly, i began letting myself feel the realization and the relief of being found. But that didn't last very long. 

I heard movement next to me, and realized someone had been sitting with me though out the car ride. And with the movement, there came a sudden and blistering light. The surprise and confusion made every muscle tense with fear and i fought to breath for a few seconds. The intensity of the light drew my attention to the man who had turned it on, and i would have screamed if i had the breath. Sebastian sat next to me.

"Hello, John." He said with his slight German accent. 

Oh dear God. My mind didn't care about making connections like how he had followed me, or why he hadn't killed me yet. And within milliseconds, i judged my condition to fight, and lunged. 

I struck him in the jaw, sending him backwards. And produced two additional blows as well. When someone pulled me off of him. I was breathing heavy now. I flew around to fight the attacker, but swung and missed. Moriarty grinned. The man who killed the people i loved was standing feet away and smiling with delight. I might have been crying at this point, but i couldn't tell you. The adrenalin pumping though my veins didn't care, and I roughly threw my weight against him and sent us both hitting the wall. I rapped my hands around his throat and squeezed as his hands came up to wrap around my wrists. I used every ounce of pressure i had in me to cut off his breathing. But Moriarty wasn't bothered my the lack of oxygen. He didn't seem to notice. His eyes boar into mine and his smile widened into a nearly impossible smile. His head tilted sideways as he spoke,

" Was it something I said?"

I turned my head to see Sebastian towering over me. Smiling.

"I not going to let you hurt him." He said as his hands reached up. 

I need to move. I need to move. I need to move! 

I forced myself out of the frozen shock i was in and stumbled away. I need to get away from them! 

Tears spilled down my face for sure now, and I was breathing quickly as the panic began to rise to uncontrollable levels. Jim lied. He never sent the photo, he never drugged me, he never let me go. Shit! This isn't happening. This can't happen. Please...

I ran down the street hoping to find someone who could help me. And wow. Something didn't feel right. I quickly turned down into a small alleyway. And i could hear their footsteps behind me. Oh my God he's coming closer! 

My arm caught the corner of what appeared to be a trash bin and i stumbled. My heart lurched. Just like in the forest. Sebastian's right behind me! It felt like blood was dripping down my face. I got up as quickly as i could and ran as a new wave of adrenalin kicked in. 

It felt like i was running from my shadow. Constantly looking behind to see that they were always there. Always closer. Always coming for me. And of course, looking behind means that your not looking ahead.

___________________________________________________________

Sherlock:

My heart sunk as i lifted my hands in a non threatening way. And took a step towards him. 

"John it's me. I'm not going to hurt you. John-"

But John stumbled away, eyes wide with terror, and ran. 

The change from fight to flight was immediate. Tears ran down his face and john wasn't there anymore. He wore the face that flashes into view when he's waking up from a nightmare. It was like trying to corner a wounded animal. Panicked and confused and in absolute terror. The John i know is gone.

Lestrade and I ran after him. Turning the corner down another barely lit street. It's smaller than the last one, and more crowded than the last one. He crashes into a large trash bin that was set off to the side and stumbles down. I can see the gash on his arm from the metal corner, and John struggles to his feet.

"John! Please." I call after him and try to gain speed. John looks back over his shoulder and... his eyes. They'er not what I remember. The normal dark blue eyes full of kindness are gone. Now they'er dilated and... afraid. How can this be the friend i know and trust. What happened to John. His expression is worn and the bruises to his face have darkened. His bloody nose has dried but his split lip has reopened again. He hasn't slept in days and his ribs are broken and cracked. The only reason he's still moving is... fear.

The moment is over and John tries to pick up speed. His arms moving with him rather than clutching his sides. And he exits the tight alleyway just as quickly as he entered.

The next part happens in slow motion. Both of us begin to yell at him, to warn him of the dangers. 

"John, wait! JOHN DON'T- JOHN!!!"

Beyond the screeching tires, you could hear the bang of something solid colliding with something fragile. You could hear the bits of broken glass and plastic falling to the ground along with the sound of a body. 

And then silence.

Nothing but the crushing sound of silence. No one crying or screaming or moving. We ran to the corner and there was the car and there was John. Still and lying on the pavement. My mouth went dry and for a moment i couldn't breath. 

Thank God Lestrade was a man of action. He immediately was on his phone calling an ambulance and police. I ran around to find John and carefully rolled him over, searching for a pulse. It was there.

The feeling of relief wasn't cherished, rather moved to make way for the sudden increase of adrenalin. He was not in good shape. His collarbone was broken along with his right arm. Both legs were broken and laying out at odd angles as well. His breaths were shallow and few as he lay unconscious on the pavement. Tears were in my eyes now. Not fully wanting to come out, just sitting on the edge of my eyelids. My hands were shaking and all i could do was say his name. Over and over. Greg quickly around and nearly froze at the sight of John. The quick look we gave each other before moving into action was simple. Priority one: Keep John Alive.

 

The ride to the hospital was terrifying. John's heart stopped, and the agonizing process to restart it was nothing but white knuckle. Having to trust these people who i don't know to save the life of my best friend, all i could do was grab the strap attached to the wall and watch.

 

I somehow ended up in the waiting room with Lestrade. He had somehow bullied me into sitting down and forced a hot drink of something into my hand. He, more or less, collapsed down next to me.

And for what seemed like the first time that night, we both sat, breathed, and slowly took everything in. Greg spoke up first.

"They say that he has internal bleeding and a lot of broken bones from the crash. And because they had to preform CPR the cracked ribs became broken and ended up popping his lung. And they don't know what condition his brain is mentally and physically in. He's being worked on now and, shit, this doesn't look good. He was dehydrated and malnourished and drugged with some sort of LSD. And Christ, i just want this to be over. What are we going to do, Sherlock?"

I let out a shaky breath.

"I don't know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry. I know. I'm cruel and heartless and reallly late with this chapter. Like i said before. Please comment and tell me what you think. 
> 
> BTW. Good news. Were almost done with this fic. Bad news, i have no idea how to end this... :D
> 
> -Nicki


	6. Final

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter to my story. I know there is no Sherlock part in it, but it didn't feel right when i tried to add it in. Sorry for the eight month wait. I got distracted. Please Enjoy.

John:

Hopelessness is a hard thing to overcome. You could consider it a form of depression, I suppose. Mixed with the side affects of sadness, grief, emptiness, despair, abandonment, and plenty more. All of which are equally hard to overcome. For example, this whole ordeal took me a little over two years to get over. Far longer than I would have hoped. But I suppose everyone says that. 

I had been put into a medically induced coma for three weeks. So they could monitor and reduce the swelling in my head and chest area. And when I woke up, I wept. From the relief and shock and sadness. And the warm grip my left hand. One look and I had just lost it. Sherlock was right there. Waiting. The expression on his face was sad and guilty. He opened his mouth and managed "John I am so sorry" before I griped his sleeve and pulled him into a awkward hug. And he immediately hugged back. It was pure relief to know everything was right. Everyone was safe. It felt like a burden that i hadn't known about was lifted from my chest and I could breath again.   
The doctors had come in and had caught me up on my medical situation. Broken right collarbone, broken right elbow, cracked right humerus, five broken ribs, three cracked ribs, punctured lung, lacerated Kidney, broken right femur, cracked left tibia, broken nose, concussion, road rash on the face, arms and back, and broken left ring finger. I guess all in all, things could have been worse. But things could have been a lot better. 

Greg had been allowed in to write up a statement. We went slow, carefully asking the questions as if each one could be a landmine that would shatter my healing composure. And some questions were. I wont deny that i cried at some point. I could also tell that Greg was fighting back emotions at some parts as well. But Sherlock was there the whole time.

He was there for me throughout my physical therapy. All eight months of it. Always cheering me on, or helping me up. Urging me to try again or to take a break. He was like my lighthouse. I could trust him. And he would protect me. All I had to do was look around and he'd be there. Whenever I was lost he would find me. And I was lost a lot. I am not proud of how many times I woke up screaming or crying. Or how many panic attacks I experienced in the first year back. But Sherlock would drop his things to rush to my aid. I felt broken almost all of the time. I felt like a burden. But Sherlock was eager to help me anyway he could. I had brought it up to him once that I should move out. Until I could work out my problems. So I'd be out of the way. Sherlock's face had been heartbroken. He drew me into a hug and assured me in every way he could that I had never once been a burden and was always welcome where ever he was. That "John Watson is my top priority now. Not some experiment or crime scene". I never brought it up again.

This ordeal was added to the list of things that still haunt me. And it is a very long list. Its up there with many of my war memories. My childhood abuse. Sherlock falling. And as much as I want to say 'time heals all wounds', I am not that naive. I have too much experience with pain and memories to know that these things won't disappear into the background. Memories that are traumatic will only become background noise. Always there, just not as noticeable. It takes a certain skill to ignore the background noise. To subconsciously choose to talk over the noise. And let it be a low rumble in the very back of your mind. It takes a skill I have yet to master. For me, the noise it still a bit too loud to ignore. 

And it might always be that way. I might never learn how to forget certain memories. I am fairly sure some memories will haunt me until the day I die. That's ok and I will learn to live with it. To understand that some things will trigger those memories. 

Much like how I wasn't able to help Sherlock on our first case back. We were rounding the corner to a alleyway where the body of a young girl was found. Sherlock walking slowly next to me as I limped along with my cane. The cane was new. Mycroft had went out of his way to specially order a beautiful cane for me. I had gratefully accepted his gift. At the time I was using a crutch to move around. And the crutch was beginning to make my forearm uncomfortable. Before that was the walker, and that was all sorts of embarrassing. 

Anyway, once we turned the corner and the body was visible, it was like the breath was beaten out of me. The background noise was almost an unbearable level. I took two steps and turned to Sherlock and mumbled  
"Call me a cab."  
Sherlock took one look and turned us both around towards the street. I felt embarrassed, clingy, needy. I felt as if I had thrown a stick through Sherlock's tires. Like I had thrown a wrench into his plan that everything could go back to the way it was before. But Sherlock had surprised me when the cab had come and I had made my way into the back seat. He quietly slid in next to me. I must have given him a confused look because he opened his mouth and said the words that i remember to this day.

"John, you come first now. I care about your well being and I'm sorry if I pushed you to a place that you did not want to go. That was not my intention nor will it ever be. Do forgive my childish behavior. It will not happen again."

Through the loud background noise I managed," No, no. You go on and do your thing. I'm just working out some problems I didn't know I had. Please don't let me stop you.". My hands were shaking slightly as I griped my cane. My mouth was dry and I suppressed the urge to curl into a ball and cry out my pain. Sherlock looked to me and simply said," Then we will work on it together.". And then directed the cabbie to our street.

That was one of the last crime scenes Sherlock visited. Several months later, Sherlock had decided a change of scenery was in order, and we moved to South Downs in Sussex. To a small house in the country. Mrs Hudson was teary eyed to see us go, but she continued to visit us throughout the summers. As well as Greg, who has started to come over for his yearly summer 'vacation'. I don't see how spending a week with Sherlock and I would be much of a vacation, but he is always a sight for sore eyes. Even Mycroft would grace us with his presence, if only to talk about a government issued crisis that he had somehow averted. We still host Christmas and New Year's parties, and everyone still comes. Mike, Molly, Mrs. Hudson. The whole gang. 

And we busied ourselves in the summer. Sherlock took up beekeeping in place of crime scenes. He wrote beautiful music compositions and books on bees and very occasionally solved a mystery. He was content living like this. Living with me. And I was content. I had taken up writing even more now with the sunny days and fresh air. It was as close to retirement as I though I'd ever be. And quite frankly, the happiest I though I be. Considering... everything. But Sherlock was the lighthouse I needed. The voice that quieted the background noise. Now I'm not saying that I never had an episode again. But things were right. They sure as Hell felt right. Because Sherlock was there. Helping and guiding my way. Being there when things felt impossible. When things felt hopeless. He was there when I woke up screaming. Or when I was quiet for a whole day. He would come and fill the emptiness with tea and chatter. Yes, Sherlock Holmes filling the silence with chatter. I wasn't the only one to change. It was good to know I had a friend though all of this. A true friend who stuck with me through the bad days and nights. Who played violin to calm me down or to distract my mind. To fill the background noise with Tchaikovsky instead of gunfire. To fill the emptiness with friendship I never realized I had.


End file.
